


Immortal Elixir

by PersephonesDark



Category: Shadow and Bone (TV), The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Heavy Angst, Mild S&M, Post-Book 3: Ruin and Rising, Smut, Villain Fucking, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephonesDark/pseuds/PersephonesDark
Summary: Years after the final battle with The Darkling, the disappearance of the sun summoner and the Lantsov family reclaiming the Ravkan throne- Alina Starkov lives a new name, a new life, in an old, far, familiar place. Now married and a teacher working at the Keramzin orphanage, Alina lives a quiet existence, settled in a world unlike the one from 6 years ago. And while she graciously accepts this new mundanity with her husband, she struggles to keep memories of the past at bay. It does not help when a familiar face reappears, invading her thoughts, haunting her nights, making her question her life.It is even worse when she does not wish him to stop.
Relationships: The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Comments: 17
Kudos: 54





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi- I had always intended to write a spinoff of sorts after the disaster of Ruin and Rising, but I never quite had the writing ability to do so back in 2014. I've also admittedly not been part of the grisha fandom or even reread the books ever since, so my in-world details are pretty weak. This is sort of an experimental fic and while I have an outline planned, I'm going to see how I want the plot to unfold. I've attempted to focus a bit more on the internal aspect of Alina's character, her interaction with other characters, though mainly with the Darkling. Just exploring their angst and emotional depth and sexual dynamic....If you know me, you know I am very big on smut. I feel like we don't have enough of it for them. So, self fulfillment underway.
> 
> I'm hoping to enrich this story a bit more as I familiarize myself with the worldbuilding once again, as I'm planning on rereading the books before the show comes out in April 2021. So the length of this fic will likely span that time. Maybe it'll extend if people are interested. Which is what I'd intended to ask. If people are interested in this type of story I'd love to continue and share. As I don't really know many people in the grisha sphere (on twitter) I have no idea of knowing if anyone would want more. But if you enjoyed this then please let know me! I appreciate comments/questions/clarifications etc. Thank you.

At night, her husband was gentle with her. _T_ _oo gentle_ sometimes, as if she was glass close to breaking. Like a fine crystal dish that he hesitated to eat from. 

His hands were so kind to her skin, that while it once felt like pleasant warmth, it began to morph into an artificial feeling. Bordering on numbness, as if his touch belonged to a stranger. 

Alina was not unfulfilled by him, in any way, for as much as she understood herself. Yet, these thoughts developed over the years, unbidden and often times glaring in her mind. 

She worked to temper them- banish them like smoke swirling in the air. She knew they were temporary, that these feelings must be fleeting, and like thorns in her side, they would only grow if she let them.

Because the truth was that Alina loved him. She _always_ had. They had been through so much together, and she knew that this hesitance was merely a result of that journey- of that world where the warmth of the sun blazed like a fire in her and blood spilled through the valleys of Ravka by blackened, murderous hands.

And yet.

Alina wished Mal would at least speak to her of it, but he preferred they ignore the past. Leave it far behind into dust and absence of light.

It only made Alina yearn for more. To feel, to touch.

But he never took her like she wanted. He thought it would overwhelm her, that taking her again and again would break some delicate part he believed hid inside of her.

“Please,” Alina said one night, reaching for him. Instead he kissed her softly and laid them on their thin mattress, the padded wool blanket thrown over their legs.

“Sleep tonight, you’ve been exhausted lately. You need more time to heal,” he replied, a yawn drawing him around her as he settled his arm upon her own and his face against her neck. “Tomorrow, I promise,” he murmured, and Alina knew he meant it–he always meant well. So, she didn’t push him. She huddled closer to his warmth and rested her eyes.

The calm lasted barely a few breaths, but within that time, Mal had fallen asleep. 

Alina's thoughts galloped around in her head, derailing any sleep that might’ve visited otherwise. She rose and sat on her bed and the blanket fell to her waist. She reached over and palmed her husband’s peaceful face; his soft brown hair that curled around his ears, his handsome features, his smooth skin and the satisfied expression of one who must only be dreaming in bliss. 

She kissed his brow and left the bed, walking toward the window and settling into an armchair. The creak of the rickety furniture didn't even make her flinch now–not when her nerves leapt like live wires in her head.

Alina flit at Mal’s sleeping form and thought of his words from earlier.

 _You need more time to heal,_ he had said. 

She wondered if he ever realized that she would give anything to heal _that part_ , that some days, the only way she could think to heal was if he took her brutally, made her feel pleasure beyond what she knew. And yet he didn't. Not even with her insistence.

Try as she might to ignore that hollow feeling, she couldn't.

Alina ceased to _feel_ , to even recognize pleasure. His kisses on her lips felt like a burden–like stone meeting stone. No matter how much she burrowed herself close to him in their bed, she only felt herself growing distant. 

Especially in these moments; especially at night. Especially in the dark and within the billowing shadows that would usually lull them to sleep. But _they_ did little to calm her. They beckoned instead, with curled fingers and encouraging smiles. They ushered her to rise from bed and nestle into the darkest corner of the house. A room where no light could enter. 

The memory barely formed in her head when they appeared again tonight. Hovering like ghouls around her, peeking from behind the drawn curtains and whispering in her ear. _Come_ , they said.

Alina followed.

Her impatience barely held by a thread. She knew where these shadows came from, she knew where they would take her. To _whom_.

She stole herself away into a closet down the hall, furthest from their bedroom.

When she turned to close the door and the dim light from outside drowned her in darkness, Alina felt _him_. 

His hands, his lips, his towering form encasing her, engulfing her senses. That scent of faint smoke from extinguished fire and the crisp cold winter wind embraced her. As did the heady incense from his _kefta_ , the bitter sweet flavor she could taste in the back of her throat. Alina closed her eyes when he pressed into her.

His tongue tasted her skin and his teeth nipped at her neck.

“ _There you are_ ,” his voice dipped like honey into her ears.

At once, she burned, as if caught in a torrent of flames. His hands maneuvered her around in the dark, curving over her hips and dipping beneath her night dress. _Yes, yes, yes,_ she chanted in her head as he lifted the fabric and his fingers found her core.

Her back bowed against him and she felt him everywhere; breath, body and bone. At the sound of his desperate groan, she turned with a shuddering exhale. Her hands clawed at him, unhinged, fervant, desperate and desiring so much- they curled into that black _kefta_ , pulling him closer.

“ _Alina, my Alina_ ,” he said, stoking her fire.

She kissed him— drank him in like immortal elixir.

“ _Take me,_ ” she was choke full of tears, of a scream that refused to relieve her mouth. _He would give it to her, he would make her rise, he would make her feel again—_

“Alina?” Mal’s shaken voice broke her trance. Her hands stilled, bunched into an old, black cloak in their stark naked closet. Candlelight illuminated her surroundings from the open door–although there was little there to see but cracked walls and empty, worm eaten shelves.

Especially not _him_. _He_ was not here.

She didn’t think he ever was.

While her husband guided her back to their room, shaking his head, promising a visit to a healer first thing in the morning, reiterating how she needed more time, Alina relived the past several moments in another world.

She existed in the pain of teeth biting the pulse in her neck, large hands gripping her thighs apart, lips at her ear, _his_ tongue in her mouth, dark, filthy words spoken with reverence—

She let it travel down between her legs and singe her core. Her back bowed in bed and she gasped, gulping for air. Tears streamed down her cheeks—unrelated to the traitorous pleasure coursing through her.

Mal thought she was merely shaken from another hounding nightmare, another troubled memory, and he held her tighter, murmuring promises against her temple.

Her eyes squeezed shut, and she burrowed into the blanket, letting arms like stone encase her as she willed her heart to stop.

 _Aleksander,_ Alina begged, but the darkness did not answer.


	2. Raging Reminiscence

A few months passed since Alina last saw him. 

He appeared before her more times than she could count, and she denied her clear desire to see him, far more than she should have. She told herself it was mere curiosity. Nothing more. Mal was oblivious to the horror of her thoughts, to the cruel yearning that churned in her belly like the raging waters of the True Sea. Alina didn’t tiptoe on the precipice of the past, she strode towards it.

She attempted to quell that storm-to resist it, if anything. But it wasn't until she received a letter, that the twisted torture in her mind ceased.

It was a mere distraction at first, but maintaining secret rapport with Nikolai–once privateer, now the King of Ravka and a dear friend- had quieted some of the unsettling in her.

But when _he_ revisited, something broke inside, or rather something yearned to tear free and the ache of keeping a lock on that cage caused Alina more grief than she was able to hide. 

Still, she tried. She kept busy- she attended the school, taught, painted, baked, and perused the village and town, making small talk around a once dried up fountain in town square- now rebuilt and flowing with clean water. Alina did everything, anything, to keep her hands busy, to not stop and take sight of how much they quivered when left alone.

It was why she sat in the kitchen under soft yet waning sunlight trickling through the windows, with a full page of mundane nothings detailed on parchment, the pen scratching with ramblings that she did not think Nikolai had time to read. Yet he did, as he answered in just as much detail and she felt the vigor of his words. Almost as if he spoke to her in person, his sea blue eyes glittering. And yet, Alina sensed his restlessness sometimes, and wondered if being King had its own set of loneliness, despite being surrounded by so many.

Though there was little to ponder about it. Alina saw it once already- felt _that_ King bleed away in her hands.

She shook her head, wishing the thought, the feeling, away, but her hasty movement caused a corner of the parchment to tear. A reminder to cease her ramblings, her flitting thoughts.

Mal always told her to be curt in response- though Alina couldn’t help the words that often poured out. All was said with discretion, even though the journey to Ravka was done through Nikolai’s trusted messengers. Still. She knew to be smarter. To retain their hidden life.

Before Alina folded the letter, she wrote;

_I can’t help but pity your subjects, but I will say, I miss your crass wisdom, and while I loathe to stroke an ego greater than the whole of Ravka, I will also say- I miss your pretty face._

_Write soon._

_–A_

Though Alina adopted many aliases over the years, before Mal and her decided to settle in Keramzin for good- she still signed these letters with her old name. It felt fitting; an old name to address an old friend. It was one thing she felt she had control over.

She was lighter when the letter was written and ready to be sent off. But she knew without teasing the thought that this was more than simple reminiscence. Almost as if she desired a peek into that world again- to relive it through these letters from old friends. That she missed being in that presence. Alina knew _his_ presence had brought this resurgence.

Her time in Ravka—she felt in her soul that she belonged, that she was desired- no matter the reason. It had fed the greedy orphan wounds of her heart, to no longer be sickly and starving for affection. To give and take. To demand presence and men alike. _The two most powerful men in Ravka, no less._

Alina splayed one pale hand against the kitchen window. The setting sun simmered towards the horizon and she chased it with her fingers. Always out of reach.

* * *

When evening descended, she was bereft of strength, in chores and duties and the occasional field picking- that was, if the weather did not immediately chase her back inside. While the cold had tempered lately, the year merely awaited winter’s claws. Every so often a chilling wind would wrap her in its violent embrace and she was transported back in the frozen grasp of Ravkan landscape. Yet, it was a cold Alina did not entirely detest.

The fireplace crackled as she rested in the living area, blanketing her bare legs- wishing she had donned on more than a simple shift. She attempted to lose herself in a book, if only to halt the past from uprooting the calm in her heart. But it seemed the past had no plans to heed her. Instead it seemed adamant at fanning the flames.

When an eerie quiet filled the room- as if a presence beyond this world filled the space, that is when she knew. _He_ was here.

Darkness slithered around the shadow of flame from the hearth and unravelled into form. So real and so familiar.

Alina gripped the book in her hands- blood rushing in her ears.

A soft sigh left him. A world of emotion beneath it.

“Were you waiting for me, Alina?” He asked, and she could not even deny it. This evening's rest for the past several months had become routine, because she _had_ awaited him. She does not say this. His voice- the memory of it- the current presence of it shook her for a heartbeat, her tongue heavy in her mouth- but she shuttered any unrest from her face.

Her gaze collided with his.

“What have you come here for, Aleksander?” she kept her voice light, stable as she could without shaking, and the words aimed as the taunt they were meant to be.

When his lips pulled, he straightened away from the wall and moved towards her. She knew he remembered.

“ _I wanted to see you,_ ” he said, and the memory of those words, of that moment, rang in Alina's head. She felt the truth of them through whatever empty, bereft bond they once shared.

“I have nothing to offer you,” she said. _I am not your sun summoner anymore_.

_I am not yours—_

His smile was a quiet secret. “You did once,” he said, and the words curled under her skin, unexpected, like thorns. Alina grit her teeth. To one who yearned and silently begged for scraps of praise- they stung her more than she could have imagined, yet she kept her face still.

“Barely,” was all she could manage.

Then, “I have nothing to offer a ghost,” Alina said, her heart thundering in her ears through faux nonchalance. She flipped a page of the book in her lap.

“Is that what you think I am?” his voice did not rise, but there was wonder in it, “a shadow of the past?” His gait was not unlike before, yet it felt as if he glided towards her, walking an unknown wind. 

The night smothered what little sunlight trickled through the windows, yet within this space, Alina was encased in the warmth of firelight, and whorling darkness, that seemed almost to eat her. But that is all it was- a remnant of night and nothing that could truly take her, nor have her- not like it had within her nightmares, nor in welcome dreams that she wished to think did not happen.

“You are nothing,” her voice broke the breath of silence and she raised her head to see his eyes dim, though flames from the hearth danced in his gaze.

“As am I,” Alina finished, and returned back to her book. A tale of sorrow it was, a weak farm girl from the outskirts of town caught the eye of a tormentor in the kingdom, one who ignited a deep power within this girl and kissed—

 _No_. Alina flipped back to the front of the book, frantically shuffling through the pages.

A huff of laughter filled her ears and thwarted her attention. She rose her eyes unbidden.

He found himself space upon the chaise lounge she rested on, and Alina had not even heard him, did not feel him move at all. She swallowed, trying not to imagine the last time she was this close to him. He did not look affronted by her words, no–there was a strange lightness to his face, in his fingers that drummed the back of the seat. Lithe and long, far bigger hands than hers. Her own fingers clutched the spine of her book.

There was an odd, childish ease to his countenance. A strangeness to his form too–one Alina could not guess if she tried. Usually by now he would have disappeared into the air- would have left behind a quiet exhale that only rang within her ears. Yet he sat, his head tilted, he watched her as only one who was at complete ease with the other. The thought frightened Alina enough to speak up.

“Why are you still here? Erupt into dust mites for all I care,” she said, and his teeth flashed within the dim light, “do you not have any other hobbies in the underworld- go bother someone else–” she continued, gritting her teeth.

“But I am _alone_ , Alina. Just as you are alone,” his soft voice caressed the nape of her neck, stroked her spine.

“ _I am not alone_ ,” the words burst from her mouth, as if she could physically set fire to the idea, “I have Ma—”

“I could create another Fold out of the loneliness you so deny, Alina,” He cut her off, his eyes darkening. There was promise in his breath.

Alina inhaled sharply, but she didn’t pounce on his bait. She curled her feet into the soft blanket and huddled her legs closer to herself. She let the curtain of her stark white hair cover her side so she did not see him. Wished that he did not see her, the trembling of her fingers or the stinging in her eyes that she fought against. 

Pity she could not fight against her own words. They spilled out as if compelled to answer him.

“Worry about yourself! Go buy a friend- a _lover_. I’ll send you off with a hefty good luck, since they’ll scream their heads off the second they see you,”

Laughter left his lips, a deep rumble from the throat that made Alina peek past the curtain of her hair. He seemed surprised by it, just as she was.

His eyes brimmed with mirth regardless, and then she watched him settle against the seat, the cushion flattened with his weight.

She felt him- his scent, his warmth- she felt it engulfing her senses once again.

“I have had lovers before, Alina, many many years ago,” he said, and she started, watching him eye the lines of both splayed hands.

“Painters and actresses, politicians and kings. So many faces, so many lives, all of which have left me with nothing but empty ends and fleeting memories. I could not recall a name, a face, if you asked for it,” his voice was a quiet echo in the dark. He raised his head.

Alina noticed too late that he had moved closer to her, close enough that his thigh touched her blanket-covered feet on the chaise lounge.

“It was not until a century passed, before the severity of this life, of my ability, rooted within me. _‘I am power and power is me._ ’ Words my mother drilled into my head as a child. The thought of being with a friend, a lover, remained a fleeting, unattainable, unwanted ideal,”

Her heart thumped in her chest, but she listened with rapt attention as his mellowed voice nestled in her ears like swirling smoke. 

“When you have barred yourself that long, Alina, you begin to lock yourself within the existence of only your making. I began to realize that a being of my calibre cannot compromise with mortality, cannot play in the pens of the common,” his voice was eerily soft, his steel grey eyes twinkling.

“You are not a god,” she muttered unbidden, and his eyes snapped to hers.

Alina flipped the page of the book in her lap, though she did not discern a single word the second she felt him materialize near the fireplace. She glanced up and saw the flicker of flames reflect on his face, his twitching lips.

“ _Yet_ , I cannot ascribe to the mundane, to the simple, to rising days and falling nights. I am not beholden to this existence. And neither are you, Alina,” he took a soft breath, “you and I, we are _not_ nothing,” 

There was a strange, hopeful lilt to his voice. Alina told herself she heard it only because she was tired, that sleep sought her and dared to offer a dreamlike fantasy. But she could not deny that his appearance and his words- his honesty- took her by surprise. That he was real, and he felt real by her side.

His ink black hair, usually coiffed and brushed away from his forehead, was a messy mop atop his crown and curling black strands kissed his lashes. He looked younger than she knew him to be. Softer, even. So soft, that her hands itched to touch him. She curled them into her side.

His steel grey eyes were glassy. The ghost, the ghoul, the image of him that appeared before her, was almost dead in its stillness. Alina did not let herself believe him beyond that. And _yet_. His eyes bore into her and in them there was _life_. 

_You live in one moment, I live in a thousand_ , he once said to her. She seemed to have forgotten, seemed to have ignored this fact; that he truly was beyond mortal existence. That he lived and endured through countless faces as the world moved on from one war to the next, from one fall of an empire to the rise of another.

He had _lived_. 

And yet.

Here he sat.

The days Alina awaited him- she wished to talk to him, wished to see the soft in those steely eyes- like frozen glaciers- to the man she had swept in her arms as he lay dying-by her own hand. As the last ember in the hearth of his eyes had blazed, there had been a different life in that paradoxical moment. She had wished to stoke it, but it had been too late. 

She wished to find those eyes again, but she did not know how to will them to see her.

“Six years it has been,” Alina said instead, pulling her white curtain of hair over one shoulder, “and this is the extent to your poetic prowess?” she flipped another page of the book. Glanced at him.

Dark strands fell into his narrowed eyes, but amusement played on his lips. Yes, this was all so amusing to him.

“Alina,” he said, his voice whisper-soft. Her name was curse and prayer at once in his mouth. From his lips. She glanced at him once again, she could not help herself. Trepidation coursed through her, the book all but forgotten in her lap.

“ _I_ _am yours and you are mine_ ,” he said, and those steel grey eyes burned with a familiar blaze. A hopeful blaze, “ _never forget this_.”

The front door rattled open and Alina knew her husband was home. Still, she turned, whether out of habit, or with the act to maintain it, and found kind blue eyes greeting her. The noisy gust of winter wind beyond the open door chilled her bones, and she knew without looking back that _he_ was gone. 

_____

At the time, Alina had not given his words much weight- hadn't thought to look beyond the curtain of his wicked smile, his eyes that held more secrets than she could spell. What a fool she had been.

 _Aleksander_. 

_"I am not beholden to this existence,"_ He had said to her, _"And neither are you, Alina,"_

_"You and I, we are not nothing."_

When Alina looked back, she wondered if she would have changed things, would have taken his words seriously.

 _"I_ _am yours and you are mine,"_ he said, as if it were a vow, _"never forget this,"_

Alina never forgot it- he did not let her.

But when he had offered his hand- offered her more-

_She had let him._

* * *

**Unedited Chapter 3 1st pov excerpt**

_Just when I had begun to think that he had left me be, when his nightly perusals had disappeared and I would no longer feel his quiet breath at my ear whilst I painted, I see him._

_Today he sits in the classroom. Far back against the wall, upon a small rickety chair, looking comically composed. A little girl sits beside him; Alya, her name is. I consider paying him little mind, consider ignoring him as I always try to do, but before I can return to the board, before I can call attention to the chattering, boisterous students in the classroom, his eye catches mine._

_He raises one brow._

_A teacher, Alina? His eyes say. It doesn’t suit you._

_No, I think. Perhaps it might have suited him more, and it makes me remember._

_I am an apt pupil. Words whispered from so long ago..._

_I swallow and look away, but by the time I turn my gaze back, I find him leaning towards the child beside him. Speaking. Much to my horror, she reacts with a raise of her big brown eyes at his form. Speaks to him._

_I am ten steps forward before I can take a breath, a long foot ruler in my hand as I stand before them. I don’t know what I’ll do- I don’t even know what he intends to do but if—_

_Before I even utter a word, Alya giggles. She claps a hand to her mouth and her rosy cheeks puff as she points towards him. He sits back and watches her. I am panting with confusion._

_“What are you doing?” I say as tempered as I can. He passes the ruler in my hand an amused look._

_“She wants to see my tail.”_

_I am so surprised I don’t even blink._

_“What?”_

_A fine dimple appears in his cheek. A flash of darkness curls around him and towards Alya._

_I watch as she giggles at the swirling shadowy form._

_“Kitty,” she says, and the idea is so absurd I scoff. His darkness makes another form twirl and skitter around him before Alya chants kitty, kitty, kitty. I watch him with bated breath. His eyelids lower and the hint of a smile appears on his face._

_Dear gods is he enjoying this?_

_A chuckle leaves him and the darkness disappears. His eyes rise to meet mine._

_“Your eyes will pop out, Alina,” he says, his smile deepening. I blink and swallow, watching Alya return to her work. Watching two assistants quiet the clamor in the room as I stand before the ghost of my past. Smiling, no less._

_“Would you like to touch my tail, Alina?” He asks with a deeper gruff to his voice, an unexpected look on his face. I rock back on my heels._

_“What do you want?”_

_“Ah, what do I want?” He parrots and leans forward, arms on his elbows, watching me beneath fanned lashes. I notice long strands of hair curling below his ears, touching the base of his neck, and I realize I have never seen his hair so long._

_“No barbers in the afterlife?” I ask._

_He barks a laugh._

_“Oh, sorry. The underworld,” I say and a fine dimple deepens in his left cheek._

_“Oh Alina,” he murmurs, “How I have missed you,”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: made some edits. 🖤
> 
> ____
> 
> Hi- sorry for the delay in posting. My final term began and I got busy with that. I was also a bit hesitant to keep writing since I wondered if I could even give the characters justice- again- with what little I remembered about them. I think some parts come easy to me; their inner voices etc, vs. world building is still quite weak. I am planning on rereading the trilogy soon, so we'll see how that goes. Oh, and I promise the smut is coming. V soon.  
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. I appreciate comments/questions/clarifications. 🖤


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